


Make It All Okay

by Edge_of_Clairvoyance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Violence, Family, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Teen Dean Winchester, Teenchesters, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 15:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12323565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance
Summary: When Dean got back from the hunt to the motel room, even in the dim light from the only lamp he left on, Sam could tell there was something wrong.Dean didn't look hurt. He was also not acting like Dad might be hurt. But he was definitely upset. Upset andscared.





	Make It All Okay

**Author's Note:**

> The story contains parental violence against a minor. If it may disturb you, please don't read.  
> Language all around, courtesy of Winchester & Son.
> 
> The title is a song by R.E.M.

It took Sam a long time to fall asleep. He told himself that he was fine being left alone, that he could handle it, that he wasn't afraid. He told himself he was twelve and a half years old, not a little kid, and he could use guns and knives in a way most grown men couldn't. He told himself that the motel room was perfectly secured, that he knew how to react to any scenario, from a drunk neighbor mistaking the Winchesters' room for his own, to a vampire attack. He told himself that Dad and Dean were going to be back before sunrise. That he wasn't afraid.

He just had a hard time falling asleep.

The room was too quiet. The trees outside were rustling too loudly. And the bed was way, way too big. True, now Dad usually asked for another cot if the room they got had two single beds, so he didn't sleep in the same bed with his brother as often as they used to. But this was a queen, and Dean wasn't here, and it had too much empty space.

He did doze off eventually, but even in his sleep he could still hear the trees rustling like old bones.

And he certainly heard when the lock on the door clicked open.

From where he was curled under the covers Sam peered out, relaxing when he saw it was Dean, and then a moment later tensing up because even in the dim light from the only lamp he left on, he could tell there was something wrong.

"Dean?"

Dean turned, a little startled, and then came over to the bed. "Hi, Sammy," he set down on the edge near Sam and reached to stroke his hair. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Dean didn't look hurt. He was also not acting like Dad might be hurt. But he was definitely upset. Upset and _scared_. "What's wrong? Where's Dad?"

"He should be here any minute now."

"Is he alright? Are you alright?"

"We're fine," Sam saw the corner of Dean's mouth twitch and when his brother spoke again, his voice was quivering. "I screwed up real bad, Sammy. Nearly botched the entire hunt. Dad sent me back on foot and stayed out there to finish it." he closed his eyes and pressed one fist to his mouth. "I'm so fucking _stupid_."

Now Sam was truly worried. He sat up in bed and skidded closer to Dean. "But you're okay, right? You got it in the end?"

"It got away but it's wounded, and Dad's on its ass, so he probably already ganked it by now," Dean looked over at Sam. "Get back in bed. When Dad gets here, just lie still and pretend you're sleeping, okay? Keep out of it, Sammy. Please. Just stay quiet."

Sam was going to say something, but then he heard the unmistakable rumble of the Impala's engine. Dean straightened up, his eyes going wide, and pushed Sam back under the covers. Sam burrowed into the blankets, too frightened now to try asking what's going on. Dean raked his trembling fingers through Sam's hair and tucked the covers closer around him before standing up and moving away from the bed.

The engine shut off, and the creak and then thud of the car door sounded faintly. Then there were a few moments of silence before the door opened and Dad walked in. Dean was standing in attention in the middle of the room, not saying a word. Dad's brisk strides took him to Dean in a second, and he backhanded him across the face hard enough to make him stagger back a step or two to keep from losing balance.

"You fucking _idiot_ ," Dad wasn't shouting, not exactly – the fact that his youngest was supposed to be sleeping might have been in the back of his mind – but it was even worse, because his voice was filled with deep, ice-cold rage. "The _hell_ you think you were doing?!" He backhanded Dean on the other side of his face, sending him back another step.

"I'm sorry," Dean managed to breathe out. He didn't try to cover his face, didn't try to duck.

"Sorry for what? For not going over the research before we set out? For not listening to me when I warned you about it? For not following orders? What are you sorry for, Dean? For putting both our lives in danger because you think you fucking know everything?!"

Dean's breath was coming fast now, his voice a terrified whisper. "I didn’t-"

"That's right, you _didn't_ ," the third hard slap drew a little moan from Dean. "Because if you _did_ , you'd remember how Crocottas hunt, and you'd also remember your brother was back in the room and not wandering around in the fucking woods calling for you to come and _save_ him!"

Dean had retreated all the way to the wall near the bathroom. Dad grabbed the lapels of his coat with both hands and slammed his back against the wall. Sam could hear the air deflate from Dean's lungs in a pained huff.

"You want to be a hunter? Because it doesn't fucking look like it. It doesn't fucking look like you understand there are _lives_ at stake!" Dad slammed him into the wall again, and then again one last time before letting go of his coat and stepping back.

Dean stooped a bit forward, partly leaning against the wall and bracing one hand on the nearby dresser. His head was bowed, his breath coming in gasps. For a while this was the only sound in the room, and then dad spoke.

"Get out."

Dean lifted his head to look at his father. "What?"

"Get. The fuck. Out. I don't want to see your face in here tonight."

Dean dropped his head and drew a shaky breath. "Yes, sir." He straightened himself up and then walked – a bit unsteadily – across the room. Dad didn't even spare him a glance when he passed him by. Dean reached the door, hesitated, looked over his shoulder, and saw Dad had his back to him, unmoving. He then slid out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.

Sam lay frozen under the covers, his heart beating so loud he was sure Dad could hear it. Well, if he could, he said nothing about it. He said nothing at all. He didn't even look in the direction of the bed, just stood where he was, staring at the wall he just slammed his eldest son against. After a few minutes he let out a breath and went over to his duffel bag. Sam heard him rummaging in it and when he stood up he had a nearly-full bottle of whiskey in his hand. He shuffled to the couch and plumped down on it.

Sam waited for a long time, listening to the steady pace of the whiskey sloshing inside the bottle as it was methodically raised and lowered, raised and lowered. He waited for a while longer after the sounds stopped and Dad's heavy, sleepy breaths filled the room. Then he slithered out of bed.

Sam didn't have to go looking for Dean. Not really. Once he was out of the room, he headed straight for the Impala.

Dean turned his head only slightly when Sam opened the passenger-side door and climbed in. "You should be in bed," he said.

Wordlessly, Sam held out the can of beer he lifted from the refrigerator. Dean eyed him for a minute, and then took it, popped it open and knocked it back. He drank what seemed like half the can in one pull before lowering it and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam set quietly, watching Dean as his brother stared out of the windshield at the empty parking lot. Dean didn't have the radio or the cassette player on; the only sounds were the rustling of the trees, louder here than when heard from inside the room.

"We should call somebody," Sam said at last.

"What?"

"Call somebody. Uncle Bobby, or Pastor Jim."

Dean took another swig of beer. "What for? Anybody else needs to know that I'm one big fuck up? You wanna post an ad in the local paper?"

"Dad just beat you. We should-"

"He didn't beat me."

Sam stared at him. "Dean, I was _there_."

Dean emptied the beer, sighed and put the can on the dashboard. "Look, Sam, I screwed up. Like, royally screwed up. I knew that Crocottas imitate voices, but I didn't think it'd do that while it was being hunted down, and I thought I was smart enough to tell if it did. And I knew you weren't there, you _couldn't_ have been there, but when I heard your voice it was so _real_ , and you were crying and calling for me, begging me to save you, and you sounded so hurt and alone and I… I don’t know. I just lost it. If Dad hadn't kept his cool, the thing would have killed us both." He looked down at his hands and shrugged. "So Dad slapped me a couple of times, big fucking deal. Not even close to what I deserve."

"He kicked you out."

"Yeah, for the night. Didn't earn my bed," Dean gave a little humorless smile and finally looked at Sam. "It's okay, Sammy. It really is. I'm fine. Quit the bitchface, will ya? I don't know any spells to fix it if it'd get stuck like that." Sam didn't really mean to, but he smiled, just a tiny bit, and Dean smiled back. "Get back to the room."

"I wanna stay with you."

"You need to sleep, kiddo."

"Just for a little while. Please, Dean?" He gave his brother his best puppy-eyes, and Dean sighed.

"Fine. Here," he twisted about in his seat until he got his coat off and wrapped it around Sam's shoulders. Then he turned somewhat so his shoulder and half his back leaned against the car door. Sam scooted over and drew his legs up on the seat. Dean pulled him to rest against his chest and slid his arms beneath the coat to wrap around his little brother. Sam propped his cheek under Dean's collarbone, and closed his eyes.

Even though his ear was pressed to the right side of Dean's chest, he could hear his heart, beating steadily. He remembered how he wondered once, when he was little, how come he was hearing Dean's heartbeat on the right side as well as on the left, and coming to the conclusion that Dean's heart must be so big that it took up all of his chest. In the cozy, familiar gloom of the Impala, snuggled up in his big brother's arms, it didn't seem so far-fetched.

The sound of a water flushing in the toilet made Sam open his eyes. He was back in bed, in the motel room that was full of morning light. He heard a rattle of dishes and turned over to see Dean in the kitchenette, probably making breakfast. He wore a different shirt than the one Sam remembered him wearing yesterday, and so Sam figured Dean went back to the room as soon as his exile ended at first light, put him back to bed, and had time to wash up and change before starting to cook breakfast. Scrambled eggs, by the smell.

Dad came out of the bathroom and strolled over to the kitchenette. Dean glanced back to see him coming, grabbed a cup and poured coffee from the pot in it. Than he set it on the table where it would be closest to Dad when he arrived, and retreated toward the counter.

Dad got to the table, picked up the cup and took his time sipping the coffee. Dean by then had turned to finish with the eggs, but as soon as Dad put the cup down, Dean was ready with the pot to fill it again, which he did moving carefully and keeping his eyes down. He reminded Sam of a wolf displaying submission to the pack leader, which, if he came to think about it, wasn't so far off from the truth.

Dean set plates of steaming eggs on the table, added another with a stack of toasted bread as if making an offering to appease an angry god, and then backed away again. Dad didn't sit down. Instead, he went around the table to where Dean was by the counter. Sam could see Dean fidgeting as if he wanted to bolt, eyes trained on the floor and chest moving a little faster. For a moment Dad just stood there, looking at Dean.

Dean winced when Dad reached his hand out to him, but Dad didn't hit. He gently lifted Dean's face up, and then used his other hand to caress his cheek, moving his long fingers over to rake through the short, spiky hair, and then slid it down the back of Dean's neck and pulled him close.

Dean leaned into Dad's hug, his face hidden from Sam's view. Dad tightened his arms around him and rested his cheek on the top of Dean's head.

"I thought I was gonna lose you," he whispered. "I thought that thing was gonna get you. Don't you ever scare me shitless like that again, Dean."

Dean's reply was muffled by Dad's shirt. Sam thought it might have been either "yes, sir" or "I'm sorry", or possibly both. Dad patted him on the back and then pulled away. He gave him another little caress over the same spot he slapped so roughly last night.

"You'll be the death of me one day, boy," he said with a sigh. Then he smiled. "Go, wake your brother up before the food gets cold."

Dean smiled back and headed for the bed. Sam looked up as he sat next to him, in the same place he sat last night. Only now there was golden sunlight illuminating him, not dim lamplight, and he didn't seem scared anymore.

"Morning, Sammy. You're hungry?" Sam realized that he was, and nodded. Dean smiled and reached to pull the covers off. "C'mon, then. Breakfast is served."

**Author's Note:**

> Like my works? Want to subscribe and get updates on new stories? Make sure you subscribe to the **user** and not the specific work!


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